


Falling into Place

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Didn't Know They Were Dating, Domestic, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 09:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15660297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Stiles slumps further down on the sofa. A documentary plays out in front of him - enough bullying on the subject and Derek finally joined the twenty-first century and subscribed to Netflix - but he's not paying it much attention."Feet." It's accompanied by a whack across his shins, and he groans, throws one hand over his eyes and reluctantly pulls his legs up. A weight settles at the other end of the sofa, picks his feet up, and straightens his legs again.





	Falling into Place

**Author's Note:**

> I hate titling stories! Sorry...

Stiles slumps further down on the sofa. A documentary plays out in front of him - enough bullying on the subject and Derek finally joined the twenty-first century and subscribed to Netflix - but he's not paying it much attention. He watches idly as a whale sweeps through endless blue, and feels his eyelids start to droop.

"Feet."

It's accompanied by a whack across his shins, and he groans, throws one hand over his eyes and reluctantly pulls his legs up, bent at the knees. A weight settles at the other end of the sofa, and picks his feet up, straightening his legs again. They settle on something hard, but warm.

"Are you watching this?"

"Mmmph."

"Can I change the channel?"

"Noooo," Attenborough is good to sleep to, okay. Everything is calm and quiet, especially Blue Planet. It's a guaranteed soporific, and he hasn't slept much over the last few days.

A large hand rests on his left ankle, but the click of dolphins doesn't disappear, and he lets himself sink.

 

\--

"Pizza?"

"Scotty, my boy, I'll never know why you phrase that as a question." Stiles hangs off one end of the sofa and reveals the pizza menu that was hiding underneath with a flourish. "If a girl answers, say its for Derek and she'll give you 10% off."

"You just knew this was under there, huh?" Scott raises one eyebrow, beginnings of a smirk on his face. Stiles throws a cushion at it, but Scott dodges easily and laughs. "This girl - does Derek know you're using her crush to get cheap food?"

Stiles gets up and clatters about the kitchen before he answers. "He's a regular customer, that's all. The guy is a douche, will only believe it's for Derek if Derek is the one making the call." He unearths the good soda stash, throwing one to Scott on purpose, so he can't open it without getting a sticky shower.

"Even though they're delivering here?"

"I may have ordered once or twice when he wasn't around."

Scott raises both his eyebrows this time, but says nothing, tapping the top of his can to disperse the bubbles. He must have some kind of magic touch, because there's zero spray when he cracks the top a second later.

"I can order pizza from here," Stiles adds, fiddling with his own ring pull.

"Never said you couldn't," Scott says mildly. "Now pick something-" he throws the remote at Stiles - "or I'll make you watch the Bionic vet.”

"I've told you before, I'll tell you again, it doesn't count as studying..."

 

\--

Stiles bundles Derek into the passenger seat of Roscoe. He's almost unresponsive, but Stiles has been working out, okay, he can handle the weight. He goes around the other side and drags Derek in by the shoulders, before smushing his feet into the foot well.

"Alright puppy, what have we got here..." He pulls the first aid kit from its spot just behind his seat, easy reach for emergencies. He sprays some antiseptic before stuffing clean padding against the hole in Derek's side and wonders when, exactly, he started acting so calm as his friends bled out right in front of him. Guess it is true; you can get used to anything, given enough exposure. He winds a bandage tight around, balancing Derek in his arms to go around his back, then secures it and gives it a quick pat. It's not pretty, but it won't be necessary by late this evening, thanks to the good old werewolf mojo. Keep as much of the blood in as possible, keep everything clean and let nature (or supernature) do the rest. That's werewolf first aid.

It feels wrong to drive off with Derek still completely out for the count, so he pours a little antiseptic onto a cotton pad and dabs as the scratches on his face. They're almost healed, stopped bleeding already, but getting the dried blood out of the way will also make driving back through the centre of Beacon Hills a little less difficult. He strokes gently, watches as the pad turns red-brown and Derek is revealed. There was more than a little mud on there too.

"There we go, all pretty again." He throws the dirty cotton pad into a plastic bag and stuffs it and the first aid kit back in place. He'll need to remember to restock the bandages. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he adds. Derek's nose wrinkles, and he laughs and pats his cheek. "Okay, back in business. One Stilinski taxi ride home coming up."

He keeps one eye on Derek as he trundles across town. The older man hadn't even thought about jumping in front of Stiles as that omega attacked. Never did.

 

\--

Later that week, Stiles glances around the table. For once, they've pretty much all managed to be in Beacon Hills at the same time, and as such, the extended pack is out for dinner. Italian is pretty much the only cuisine they can all agree on, but what's handy is that Liam's aunt knows the owner, so they get a table, a blind eye to any raucous bursts of laughter, and the odd tray of free garlic bread. They're missing Cora, of course, and Theo had some family thing he couldn't get out of, but everyone else is there. Except Derek.

"Where's sourwolf?"

"Huh?"

Scott has one hand on Kira's leg, and although he turns to look at Stiles its obvious his attention is mostly elsewhere. Stiles sighs, and resigns himself to talking mostly to Lydia for the evening - if he can tear her attention away from Jackson, back for the summer, of course.

"Derek, where is he?"

"I don't know, don't you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, it's always the two of you these days. I figured you'd bring him along."

Stiles stills. "You didn't invite him?"

"I didn't really invite anyone. Kira told Lydia, Lydia brought Jackson, I told you, you bring Derek-"

"You didn't tell me this was a word of mouth kind of thing. And why would you think I would bring Derek, like Lydia brought Jackson?"

"I don't know, I just assume-"

"Yeah well you know what happens when you ass-"

"Just call him now, Stiles, he'll understand." Scott's attention is diverted again by Kira laughing on his other side, and Stiles gives up. He knows he meant no harm, never does. He also knows Derek will understand. Unfortunately, Derek what will understand is that the group would rather not have him around. That their Alpha did not invite him to a group bonding event. What Derek will not understand, is what actually happened. Scott being an oblivious asshole. A mistake. He pushes his chair back.

"Stiles?"

He smiles at Lydia, waves off her concern. "Just gotta go - I forgot, my dad - " he books it before he can get to the end of the sentence. The pack will easily devour the lasagne he'd ordered.

 

\--

"Yo Derek!"

The loft looks dark, but Stiles knows that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Derek is kind of a creeper, its not all for show, and often sits at home with the lights out. Or, to look at it another way, he likes to watch the lights go on across town and think. But he'd never admit that - it doesn't go with his image.

Stiles snorts and roots out his keyring. He's got a spare here somewhere - most of the original gang do, for emergencies, but he's probably the only one who's ever used his. It fits in the lock and turn with a quiet snick.

"Derek?" He calls softly. Sure enough, there's a lump on the sofa, and a coffee cup placed on the floor, standing out in silhouette against the town's street lights and headlights like decorations outside the windows.

"I'm not asleep." The lump shifts, elongates, and there's Derek. "Your dad said you were busy tonight."

"Nah," he knows he should confess. Yes, we were both meant to be busy. I didn't realise inviting me meant inviting you. That no one thought I wouldn't have said anything. But he can't. Can't do that to the werewolf stretched out on the scandalously comfy midnight blue sofa, paperback hanging from one hand because apparently wolf eyes mean he can see in the dark.

"There's coffee in the pot."

"Nah," he repeats. He sits on the end of the sofa near Derek's feet, which automatically lift for him. The armrest on this side fits him to a tee; too many days and nights spent lounging here, killing time between nightmares, attempting to keep up with his classes, so much harder at the university than they ever were in school. Always the steady presence next to him, a calming hand on the shoulder or an offer of a run in the reserve when the ants under his skin got too much.

Something about the dark and the quiet unlock him. "Do you ever-" he stops. Can't quite make himself continue.

"Do I ever what?" Derek places his book on the floor, bookmark in place, then crosses his arms behind his head, shifting to lie on his back. Stiles rubs one toe into the carpet, scratches his nose. "What, Stiles?"

He turns to look at Derek, and the street lights are probably lighting his face up like a Christmas tree, but Derek is still mostly in shadow, just the suggestion of dark eyes and dark hair, but more the warmth and the weight making him known. It helps.

"I think Scott thinks we're together." There is silence for a beat, before he finds himself filling it, with no input from his conscious brain. "And Lydia, to be honest. Kira definitely, in fact I think she ships us - you probably don't know what that is, but I shouldn't tell you, it would freak you out. Mason too. I'm not sure about Jackson. I don't think he thinks about anyone except himself. And Lydia, I suppose-" a hand on his arm and he almost chokes on air.

"Okay."

"But we're not." It sounds small in the darkness.

"Do you want to be?"

"Do _you_ want to be?" They could end up going in circles, but Stiles can't make that leap. He knows they're friends now - knows it, _knows_ they're as close as he and Scott ever were, closer than he has been to anyone else, even Malia - but sometimes he still flashes back to him at sixteen, trapped against a door by a werewolf/possible murderer and simultaneously scared, turned on and so, _so_ inadequate.

"Yes."

It's said so plainly, Stiles thinks he mishears. It's the answer to 'do you want more coffee', or 'did you get mushrooms on the pizza', not a question that could shift their path forever.

"It's a big deal," he whispers. Derek sits up and shrugs, dark shoulders silhouetted. One warm hand touches Stiles' face, just the fingertips, like he's not sure he's allowed.

"It doesn't have to be."

"What, things won't change?!" There's an edge of hysteria bubbling in the back of his brain, the small voice that says run, get away. But he won't, because he wants this too, its just a lot to face up to. He thought tonight was going to be about cheesy fries and pasta listening to Jackson wax lyrical about London, with his affected fake-posh accent.

"Most things won't," Derek promises. "You'll still have a key here. You'll still do your classwork on the couch when I say the table would be better for your back. You'll still fall asleep on me and not let me change the channel. You'll still pretend to be me to get a frankly quite poor discount at various fast food outlets."

"You make me sound like a terrible boyfriend." That word. It just slipped out. Like they already were.

"You're a perfect boyfriend. Because I like reading with you studying next to me, and I like watching you sleep-"

"-creeper-"

"-and you get food here for when I get home."

"Well, put that way..."

"So..."

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?" Ah yes, one of the things that would change. Stiles nods before he thinks about it, which is probably a good thing because otherwise he would have said no - he hasn't kissed anyone in over a year, he's out of practice, the restaurant brought the garlic bread over early and oh god, he had a slice-

Derek's lips are warm, and soft. One of his hands has slipped into Stiles' hair, and the sensation is vaguely familiar, as if Derek sometimes combs it out while he drowses. He deepens the kiss, until he can feel that old familiar lick of flame deep in his ribcage, stronger than he remembers. He breaks it.

"Can we - can we-" he has no idea how he's out of breath from a simple kiss. He almost giggles - its like Derek stole it away. "Can we take it slow?" He wants to do this right. Because he's only twenty one but he has a feeling this might be it. Derek is his best friend in everything but name, after all, and it would break them apart if things went wrong. It might break the pack. Its worth it, but he wants to make sure there are no misunderstandings. "Tonight," he adds. "It was a pack meal. I was meant to invite you, but I didn't realise, because we weren't together, but everyone assumed I would tell you to come. I thought Scott was organising-"

"Scott is a terrible organiser, never rely on him."

"Right, right," he laughs, hides his face in Derek's chest. He can feel his heartbeat through the cotton. It's steady. He could get used to this. "I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about."

"But I should have-"

Derek shakes his head. "I'm glad you didn't." He strokes down Stiles' face, almost cradles his head to him. "If you had, we wouldn't be here now."

"We'd be in a restaurant with all our friends," Stiles realises.

"Or we could be here,” agrees Derek.

Stiles grins. "No contest."

 

 


End file.
